The Home Team
by Mytay
Summary: Kurt is freaking out, Finn suffers rather nobly, and the Hudson-Hummels wonder why all their best family moments seem to occur when at the hospital. A semi-sequel to The Thickness of Blood.


**The Home Team**

**By: **Mytay

**Rating:** K+ (Eh, some language, some light semi-violence, but other than that . . . you're good :P)

**Summary:** Kurt is freaking out, Finn suffers rather nobly, and the Hudson-Hummels wonder why all their best family moments seem to occur when at the hospital.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own, nor claim to own, anything Glee related in what follows.

**Note: **A semi-sequel to _The Thickness of Blood_. You don't need to read that to understand this one though, so feel free to go forth if you haven't. Also, imagine it at any point in the Glee timeline after Finn and Kurt become brothers – really, there was no specific time thought out for this.

**Spoiler Alert: **None really.

**Warnings: **It's so fluffy you could _die,_ and a shameless excuse for warm and fuzzy brotherly bonding :) Please don't fault me if your teeth fall out and you fall into a sugar-induced coma ;D

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Oh, you moron! You obnoxious bastard! You . . . you _lummox_!"

"Kurt –"

"I can't believe you could be this stupid! Do you have any idea what your mom –"

"_Kurt!_"

"Stop moving, let me see how bad – oh God, why, why did you forget to charge the damn phone –"

"Kurt, cut it out right now before I _pass out!_"

Kurt shut his mouth, watching as Finn gulped and shuddered from the effort of shouting over his rambling panic. Kurt's hands were clutching at his stepbrother's shirt, pulling upwards to see the damage done – Finn was going to have some _spectacular_ bruises. It made him shiver all over, and fear was twining his tongue again as he fought the urge to babble. Finn could be bleeding internally for all he knew and . . . He pushed the fear down with a surge of the other emotion that was currently vying for his attention.

"You _dumbass!_"

Finn choked out a laugh. Kurt was whipping off the jersey he'd been wearing, balling it up as a pillow, getting Finn's head as comfortable as he could on the harsh asphalt. He sat silent for a moment, trying to reign in his racing, whirling thoughts. He could run for help, but he didn't want to leave Finn alone – what if those assholes came back? His phone had been in the bag they took, and Finn's cell was without battery. He chewed on his lip, tasting his strawberry lip gloss, staring down at Finn's bruised knuckles, examining them closely – their parents would come looking for them soon. They'd be easy to spot since the baseball stadium parking lot was almost empty. Which was actually part of the problem – if there had been people around, Kurt would've been able to get Finn help right away, and they'd be on their way to the hospital.

"Kurt, I swear, it looks worse than it is," Finn tried to reassure him. "It only hurts when . . . I try to move or something."

"Like the movement that results from talking? Shut up, idiot."

"Well, what about you?" Finn was watching him with concern in his gaze. "They were –"

"I'm fine," Kurt cut in, and it was the truth – he was just fine – Finn was the one who had ended up bruised and nearly unconscious . . .

_Finn tossed the ball in the air, crowing in triumph, "I can't believe it! You caught the foul ball!"_

_"I didn't catch it so much as prevent it from breaking my nose," Kurt said, but he was smiling, enjoying the free and happy expression on Finn's face. The game had been as boring as he had expected to be, but he and Carole had entertained themselves, chatting away while his dad and Finn alternated between cheering and moaning in despair. His father and Carole had stayed behind to make one last pit stop and had sent Kurt and Finn ahead to wait by the car._

_"You looked pretty badass on the big screen – like it was nothing to catch that thing!"_

_Kurt groaned. "Don't remind me – it's bad enough I'm wearing this . . . monstrosity." He gestured at the Cincinnati Reds' baseball jersey he was shamefully donning. Honestly, Kurt could pull red off quite well if he wanted to – but this garish shade was just atrocious when combined with his skin tone. Not to mention the awful cut and style of the blasted thing._

_Earlier that day, Finn had tried to shove a matching baseball cap on his head, to add insult to injury._

_Kurt had threatened to wax his eyebrows off._

_His stepbrother had backed away, still smirking smugly at having convinced Kurt to wear the jersey – he had used begging, pleading, agreements to two separate shopping trips to reform his wardrobe, and the kicker: that it would make his father happy._

_And it had._

_His father had laughed for ten minutes non-stop as Kurt yelled at Finn over the baseball cap, with Finn fake-cowering in fear, only to swiftly retaliate that Kurt looked 'adorable' in the slightly too-big jersey – as if he was wearing his big brother's uniform. Carole's happy cooing at how cute that was, coupled with his dad insisting on taking pictures had Kurt whining and protesting, but conceding as he endured further teasing from everyone in his family._

_Kurt was considering waxing Finn's eyebrows off on principle._

_"You do realize that not only was that great catch on the big screen for the whole stadium – but it was on TV too?" Finn said, putting distance between them as he spoke._

_Kurt froze, jaw dropping. "No way." But of course – how could he have forgotten, having watched a few games with his father (in-between bitching about stirrup pants)? (By the by, seeing those awful pants live and in person made him all the more certain that they were a blight on fashion that needed to be obliterated.)_

_Finn was laughing uproariously at the look on Kurt's face, everything exaggerated by the amount of sugar and carbs in his system. Kurt started chasing him – to what end, he didn't know. He only knew that when he caught him he was going to exact vengeance of some sort. The fact that he had a wild grin on his face, and was laughing between death threats, didn't really register._

_Finn, breathless and chuckling, tossed him the foul ball as they reached the car, which Kurt caught easily, shoving it in his bag. "It's mine now. I was going to let you keep it, but so much for that."_

_Finn tried the puppy eyes, but Kurt just shook his head, opening his mouth to unleash a whole new round of caustic teasing._

_That's when they came, seemingly from nothingness in the swiftly emptying parking lot. They were loud, they were stumbling, clutching beer bottles, and they were heading straight for them. Kurt stared, feeling fear sizing his limbs – the glint in their eyes, their huge hulking forms and the red shirts they were wearing had every instinct in him screaming for him to run._

_A hand came down on his shoulder and he jumped, head jerking up. Finn tugged, keeping one eye on the approaching trouble. "Get in the car – c'mon, we'll drive, call Burt and mom and let them know we'll meet them out front –"_

_"If it isn't the little boy who caught the sixth-inning foul ball!"_

_Kurt felt Finn's hand tighten, practically to the point of pain. He didn't know what to do, but one thing was for sure: he wasn't going to freeze this time. No one was going to make him this afraid and get away with it._

_"Whatever stupid, discriminatory thing you have to say, get it out of your system – we have somewhere else to be." Kurt crossed his arms, tossing his head defiantly. "Go on, impress me with your scathing wit."_

_There was some confused blinking, and then the lead thug cleared his head with a shake while pointing with a wavering finger. "Just hand over the ball, kid, and no one gets hurt."_

_Kurt wanted to comment on the ridiculous and cliché unoriginality of that threat, but Finn was pulling now, easing them back from the group. "Let's go, Kurt – mom and –"_

_"Hey, your brother ain't goin' nowhere 'til he hands over the ball. Totally would've caught it if he hadn't . . . like . . . whatever man, just give it!"_

_And then the big guy lunged, grabbing the strap of Kurt's bag, dragging him along with it. As soon as a big, meaty hand pulled Kurt in close, he let loose an angry (and yes, terrified) yell. Another hand clamped over his mouth._

_And Finn exploded._

It had been rather impressive: Finn trying to grab him, two guys holding Kurt back as the other two bulking morons worked Finn over for the hell of it. Kurt managed a groin shot on one of the two bastards holding him, and the high-pitched shrieking that ensued prompted them to forget about Finn. A hard elbow in the gut of the other frat-idiot holding him, followed by Kurt yelling for help at the top of his lungs, and they had all taken off running.

With Kurt's bag, which had his phone.

Which brought them back to their current predicament.

"You should try and get help."

Kurt glanced around the parking garage, still not seeing anyone nearby. "I can't just leave you here, by yourself – those drunken morons might come back. Or, with our luck, a whole new set of drunken frat boys will show up. No way, Finn."

"Kurt – not to freak you out, or anything, but I feel . . . kinda like I'm gonna . . . pass out. So, um, maybe you should just risk it?" His voice was wavering as he spoke, and Kurt could see how pale he was, with the barest tinges of green encroaching on his complexion.

_Well, crap_. Now he really had to – "Hey! You all right over there?"

Kurt could have cried, he was so relieved. "Over here, please! Call an ambulance!"

A family of five had come up behind them, clearly on their way to their car. The father already had his phone up to his ear, greeting the operator and requesting help. Two small children hung back with their dad as the mother and older son (who looked to be around Finn and Kurt's age) were falling to their knees on either side of Kurt, asking questions.

"Oh Lord, what happened here?" The woman breathed out.

"Some jerks took it personally that I caught the foul ball," Kurt explained, relaxing fractionally as the man hung up, letting them know the ambulance and the police would be here in less than two minutes.

"Seriously?" The teenage boy gaped at Finn's injuries. "All this over a lousy foul ball? At a _Reds _game?"

"Are you all right, honey?" The woman pressed a hand onto Kurt's shoulder, gazing at him with concern. "Those men didn't hurt you too, did they?"

Kurt shook his head. "No, not really, but uh, oh! Can I use your phone – I need to call our parents! They have to know –"

A phone was unceremoniously shoved into his hands, and he was immediately dialling his father's number. As it rang, he reached out towards Finn, putting a hand on his shoulder. Finn grinned back, albeit wearily.

"Hello? Who's this?"

"Dad!" Kurt called into the phone. "Quick, we're going to the hospital!"

"Kurt? What in the – God, where are you! Are you okay?"

"In the parking garage and yes, I'm fine, but Finn – dad, you've got to come right now!"

Finn was poking at him with a relatively uninjured hand. "Quit panicking, and stop making them worry." He tried to raise his voice. "Burt, it's not that bad – tell mom it's fine!"

A wail of sirens had overlapped Finn's words and Kurt whipped around in time to see the ambulance making its way to them, a police car on its tail. He breathed out a sigh of relief.

"Kurt! Talk to me, kiddo, what's happening?"

Then Carole's voice, clear as day, demanding, "Tell me what's wrong with Finn!"

The ambulance pulled up and the paramedics jumped out, and Kurt tried to tell his father and stepmother what had happened, what was happening in that moment, and answering questions both from them and the medics helping Finn. The police waited for them to finish before getting a quick version of the events and informing Kurt that there'd be cops waiting at the hospital to talk to him and take a statement. As they loaded Finn onto a stretcher, Kurt looked towards the family that had helped them, trying to express his gratitude.

"Hey, no, don't thank us for acting like any decent human being would," the father said, clasping Kurt's hand. "You just get in that ambulance and take care of your brother."

"Thank you. So much. Oh, and I'll give your phone back now . . . Dad? Where are you guys, we're going to the hospital right now!"

"Just go with Finn, Kurt – we'll follow you in the SUV. I want him to get help as soon as possible. Go!"

Kurt hung up, handing the phone back over. "Thank you again. I – really can't –"

"Go!" the mother said, laughing a little.

Kurt smiled back and hopped into the ambulance, the doors slamming shut as soon as he was seated. The paramedics were moving at a much slower pace than Kurt had ever seen on TV, but then again, Finn wasn't on the verge of death (_and so you should really stop panicking_, he told himself firmly). They asked his stepbrother what hurt and where, which the boy answered easily, sounded less and less dazed. They stopped peppering him with questions after another minute. Kurt closed his eyes, trying to calm his swiftly beating heart, bracing one hand on Finn's leg, the other hand reaching up run through his own brown locks – at some point his baseball cap had been knocked off. It spoke to the seriousness of the situation that Kurt didn't care what his hair looked like in that moment.

"Hey, dude, it's cool – remember the last time we were on our way to the hospital – actually, uh, you probably don't, 'cause of the blood loss." Finn fumbled around his words as the medics tended to him.

Kurt snorted lightly. "Don't remind me – I _told_ you that there would be death if you got blood on my leather my seats! You're just lucky that my dad managed to –"

"Hey! Not fair! You were bleeding, and I was freaked out – I figured it was kinda more important to make sure you didn't _die_, so I didn't bother with the seats. Sorry for saving your life, bro!"

Kurt's nerves were steadily settling as he amusedly noted that Finn seemed pretty animated for someone who'd claimed to be on the verge of losing consciousness. "It was a cut, Finn. I wasn't going to die from a cut."

"You didn't see yourself, and remember the amount of blood all over the kitchen and stuff? _Scary_."

"All right, boys, we're almost there." One of the paramedics interrupted their semi-argument; he looked to be in his thirties, with dark blonde hair and tanned skin, and sounded mildly entertained by the exchange. "Seems like you two attract trouble."

"He's the accident prone of the family," Kurt explained as Finn protested with another offended 'hey!' "The incident to which he refers was a one-time thing."

"It should count for like two or three, Kurt!" Finn turned to the paramedic, eyes wide. "He slipped on some soapy water and _sliced his own arm open with a butcher's knife_. That so trumps me walking into doors and stuff."

Trey (Kurt spotted his name tag as he leaned back in his seat) laughed out loud. "That is pretty serious there, Kurt."

"Yeah, well, I think getting beat up by drunken frat idiots puts us at about even." Kurt huffed as the ambulance pulled into the emergency entrance of the hospital.

Trey laughed again. "Okay, but how about _both_ of you aim to _not_ top yourselves in this? It's been real nice meeting you, but I'd kind of like not to see you again while in uniform, you know?"

Kurt nodded as Trey and his female partner unloaded the stretcher containing his stepbrother. They wheeled Finn in, with Kurt following slightly behind the paramedics. A nurse came to meet them, listening as Trey rattled of Finn's injuries. Kurt took his place at Finn's side once more as the nurse took down all the information and then smiled at them. "Okay, you two, my name's Samantha, and I'm going to get . . . Finn, here, comfortable while we wait for a doctor to come on by. Kurt, is that your name, sweetie?" He nodded. "You stick with your brother. Are your parents on their way?"

"Yes," Kurt breathed out, feeling himself relax at last. "And the police too. They mentioned wanting to take a more detailed statement."

Samantha stood aside as a tall orderly brought over another gurney. "Great. I'm sorry you two have had such a bad day, but we're going to get Finn on his feet and home soon."

After that, things went by fairly slowly. Finn was pushed through a pair of double doors into the temporary room area, Kurt right behind him. They were curtained off and told a doctor would be with them soon – but Kurt definitely noticed the general busyness of the emergency room, and realized that 'soon' was an extremely relative term.

They had nothing to do other than talk – and so they did, about anything and everything ("But what is a 'down'? Is that when all the players are piled on top of each other?" "Kurt, you played in a game, how can you not know this?" or "I'm not a soprano, Finn, the term is _counter-tenor_." "Okay, but I heard you say once that you sound like, uh, what is it, a _castrata_?" "_Castrato _and God, no! Finn, do you even know what that _means?_").

Kurt still felt the odd surge of panic whenever Finn shifted and winced in pain. At one point, he asked a passing nurse if it was possible to get something for Finn to drink, and she said yes, but it took her at least twenty minutes to reappear with a pair of small apple juices for both them. Kurt let Finn have the two juices, concerned with his darkening bruises and pale features. He was holding his side, and it was clear something was wrong there – maybe his ribs were fractured, and what if something was punctured or . . .

"Where is the doctor?" Kurt snapped at no one as Finn finished off his second juice. His stepbrother leaned back in bed, breath catching as he tried to get comfortable again. Kurt immediately began adjusting pillows and blankets, for the sake of something to do.

"I don't know, but calm down –"

"Finn, Kurt!" The curtain was swept aside and Carole and his dad descended upon them. Carole was scrutinizing every one of Finn's injuries that she could see, and Kurt's dad was putting both hands on his shoulders.

"You okay, Kurt?"

"I'm fine, dad, they barely touched me," Kurt said quickly. "It was Finn that they decided to work over first."

"Yeah, until Kurt landed that awesome kick." Finn smiled, even as it clearly aggravated the bruises on his face. "I think that guy hit a higher note than you ever could."

Kurt flashed him a smirk. "He may be speaking in that register for the rest of life. Considering the abuse I've received for it, I wish him well," he said this with relish, even as his father pulled him in close to his side and reached a hand out to rest on Finn's arm.

"I'm sorry it took us so long to get here – the police were asking everyone all sorts of questions on the way out of the stadium, trying to find who did this. They were still poking around and talking to people when we left, but I think they'll be here soon." Kurt's father was watching Finn closely as Carole lifted her son's shirt, prodding lightly at this sore side.

Eventually, after Kurt and Finn had described in greater detail what had happened, to both their parents' horror, the doctor did indeed make his appearance. He was a Hispanic man, (good-looking, Kurt noticed rather absent-mindedly) who introduced himself as, "Dr. Daniel Guevara," with a wide, crooked smile, though his expression became more serious and thoughtful as Finn described the cause and nature of his injuries.

It took several more hours for them to get any answers, as the doctor had many other patients he was looking after, and during which the police finally came. They had Kurt's bag with them – it had been dumped in a nearby trash, but thankfully appeared to be only minimally stained, and it still had his cell phone in the side pocket. The foul ball was gone, which had Kurt furious – not because he missed the thing but . . . all this for a _ball_? Finn getting this hurt over a _stupid ball_? He ground his teeth as Finn answered the cops' questions, and tried to keep the anger from his tone as he gave his own statement. The two men promised to do they best they could to hunt down the people responsible, but Kurt wasn't holding his breath.

Finn was x-rayed and poked and examined until Dr. Guevara was satisfied that there were no fractures or internal bleeding.

"You're pretty tough stuff, Finn," he said while writing a prescription for some pain medication. "But I want you to take it easy for the next week, and no games of tackle football for at least two weeks – you got me?"

"Not a problem, doc," Finn said easily, grimacing as he sat up. "Can we go home now?"

"Give me a minute, and we'll get you out of here as soon as possible." He disappeared for the third or fourth time.

Adrenaline having worn off, and the general tediousness of hanging around in a boring environment for so long, had Kurt sighing tiredly. "I blame baseball for this."

"Do _not_," Finn objected instantly, causing Kurt to roll his eyes. "That is the great American past-time you're talking about."

Kurt's eyes gazed heavenwards – he did not get the sports' obsession, he really didn't. "Then I blame the frat boy stereotype which so many morons seem keen on emulating and the _other_ great American past-time: getting drunk off your ass and behaving like a Cro-Magnon."

Carole was snorting, his dad raised his eyebrows with his usual amusement at Kurt's rants, and Finn blinked and stared. "I'm not sure what some of what you said meant, so I'm just gonna say that it was bad luck, Kurt. I mean, those assholes –" He glanced apologetically at his mother, who only waved it off.

"People who touch _my_ boys?" she said with a trace of anger in her voice. "_Assholes_ would be the _polite_ word for them."

Both Kurt and Finn grinned widely at the pronouncement, and Kurt felt that soft and subtle warmth he always felt when Carole said something like '_my boys_'.

"I can't believe they got our foul ball," Finn said randomly and miserably. "It was such an awesome catch too."

"I'm sure we can YouTube it later or something." Kurt's father switched places with Carole and leaned in close to Finn, wrapping a careful arm around his shoulders.

"YouTube?!" Kurt was horrified. "You mean _even more_ people are going to seem me dressed like that?!"

Finn snorted out his laughter, covering up a wince with an only slightly pained looking smile. "Dude, I swear you sound more freaked out about that then what happened today."

"Don't even get me started, Finn Hudson-Hummel!" Kurt ignored the wide smiles of his family at his use of the hyphenated name. "Next time you try to play hero, and relegate me to the role of damsel, I will let you get your ass kicked a hell of a lot more before _I_ come rushing in to save it."

"Aw, c'mon Kurt – you're smaller than me, and I'm a football player – that means that I'm good at throwing people down. That's all there was to it." He gazed at him with wide, gleaming brown eyes, innocent and imploring.

Kurt hated that look. That look plus a lot of annoying wheedling was what had gotten him into that atrocious (now thankfully thoroughly destroyed and lost) jersey.

"You did damn good, Finn," Kurt's dad said proudly, Finn flushing happily at this announcement. "But don't underestimate Kurt – he's got a mean right hook, and I'm sure you've seen his kicking abilities."

"One of those jackasses did learn firsthand about the kicking," Finn admitted gleefully. "And . . . thanks, Burt."

"I think both of them deserve some kind of reward for this." Carole put an arm around Kurt, tugging him to her side gently. He went willingly, unable to stop the smile taking over his face. The sweetness of the moment was verging on cavity inducing, but Kurt was all too familiar with how fleeting these types of things could be – and that memories were poor replacements for actual love and affection. Carole was the best thing he'd ever done for his father, and despite the circumstances surrounding their introduction, Kurt didn't come out the loser in the end. This woman was also the best stepmother he could have hoped for (and if he was blinking back tears at the thought, he did so quickly and subtly, and no one was the wiser).

He took a second to consider the fact that a few of his best memories with his new family seemed to take place after grievous injuries and during hospital stays. He really didn't want to make this a regular occurrence, as Trey the paramedic had suggested. But he couldn't help but be grateful that he and his dad had Carole and Finn to share these moments with now, whether or not they happened after someone stabbed themselves with a knife or got assaulted by a group of drunks.

"Yeah, how about another movie marathon, plus heap loads of take out?" his dad suggested. He unknowingly echoed Kurt's line of thought as he swiftly added, "I wanna say it's our tradition, but two times don't make it so. And uh, I really don't want the two of you getting any ideas – no more hospital trips, please."

_Trust me dad, it's been noted_, Kurt sighed to himself. Then he said, "Sounds great, dad – Finn, I turn over film choice to you."

His stepbrother was looking mildly surprised. "Really?"

"Yes, really." Kurt's smile was kinder and his tone was completely without teasing as he explained, "As much as I find your need to play over-protective big brother a little irritating and silly . . . you deserve any and all rewards for what you did today."

Finn's answering smile was just as sweet and sincere. "I don't need thanks or anything – I know you'd do the same for me. You _did_ do the same for me. And, I say we do _Indiana Jones_, the trilogy."

Kurt was somewhat pleased by this choice – for all his tea parties and Disney princess imitations, he'd had a case of hero worship in his early years for Dr. Jones. There was no rationale as to why, but part of it was because they were some of the few movies he and his dad could watch and enjoy together. Maybe it was the interesting (albeit not entirely accurate, and lots of it fictionalized) history behind it. Maybe it was the whip and the hat. Either way, Kurt had no objections to watching those movies again.

"I approve of a sweaty Harrison Ford, wielding a whip." Carole winked at Kurt, who could not control the blush. Maybe in later years, he'd developed a slight appreciation for the adventurous archaeologist. He'd gotten over it fairly quickly, his tastes growing a little more realistic over the years . . . but yes, he _totally_ understood what Carole was saying.

"Gee, thanks, wife." His father rolled his eyes.

"We can always get you the hat and whip, honey," she teased with a lascivious smirk. "Those were pretty much what did it for me."

"_Okay_, this conversation is heading to a bad, bad place," Kurt intervened, quickly and with no small measure of horror (his fingers twitched, and he was totally willing to smash them into his ears if this got any more descriptive), while Finn made a face and nodded emphatically.

"That's sort of the point, sweetie." His stepmother arched an eyebrow and Kurt groaned out loud while Finn lifted a pillow and buried his face in it. Thankfully, it did stop there, though Kurt already had a series of seriously disturbing images in his head, and was now wondering if he'd actually be able to enjoy Finn's movie selection without seeing his father and Carole – _Lalalala! Don't cry for me Argentina!_

By the time Finn was released, pain-meds' prescription filled, it was late, too late to start their marathon, but his dad promised Kurt and Finn a raincheck for the next day. Kurt was already planning the alternative, healthy choice in menu for this father – unbuttered, unsalted popcorn, a side offer of cheeseless pizza, etc. – as he brought Finn up his glass of warm milk, this time with a few pills as a chaser.

Finn was sitting up in bed, watching an episode of Mythbusters. He grinned as Kurt first handed him the glass, then the pills. There were no words exchanged, though there was a moment when Kurt felt a odd sort of _immediate_ need to tell Finn how grateful he was to have had him there for that, to thank him for trying to save him even though Kurt didn't want to admit he'd needed saving, and all manner of fluffy, totally cheesy brotherly sentiments.

He didn't say any of it, but he figured it was all over his face.

In the end, they'd silently agreed to sit together on Finn's bed, and watch the episode of Mythbusters together.

And when Kurt woke up the next morning in Finn's bed, feeling gross (no skin-care routine? God, his _face_) and disoriented, with his parents standing overhead and taking an obscene amount of pictures, his indignation might have been largely exaggerated – and judging by the half-hearted protests on Finn's part, he wasn't the only one.

That didn't mean he wasn't going to find and destroy those pictures before they made it up on his stepmother's Facebook wall.

But it did mean that he might keep one for the family album.

Just not the one where he was drooling, mostly face down and open-mouthed on Finn's thrown out arm, while one of his stepbrother's splayed out legs rested on top of Kurt, rather dangerously close to his ass.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Author's Note: **I'm tantalizing close to finishing my next (and possibly penultimate) chapter for _Mad World_ – so naturally, _this _is where my brain decides to take me. *shakes head* I'm considering making this a trilogy of brotherly hurt-comfort times, but I really, really want to get my other WIPs done before I venture to write a third installment in this Hurting Hudmel Brothers 'verse (not an official name, but then again, maybe?).

Oh well. _Mad World_ (and the others) are all getting done, I promise! :)

My medical/hospital knowledge is fairly limited - I skipped over a few things and kept it all vague on purpose though, 'cause I didn't want to get bogged down in too much detail. But apologies if there's anything glaringly wrong - lemme know if that's the case.

To any and all who read – thank you so much for taking the time to do so. Comments are wonderful beyond all wonderfulness, and constructive criticism is equally welcome :)


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